


Remembrance

by ornithia



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21787732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ornithia/pseuds/ornithia
Summary: A son's eulogy
Relationships: Alastor & Alastor's Mother (Hazbin Hotel)
Kudos: 59





	Remembrance

She is the most beautiful soul to grace the face of the earth, Alastor realises one day. And with this revelation he is suddenly struck with the foreboding sense of awareness, of just how fucked the irony in his being the sole fruit of her labours is. He looks up to his mother, has always wanted to be her pride and joy. To be the son she deserved and that deserved her in turn.

But he knows that if she knew the truth of the monster she'd raised it'd only devastate her. So he puts on a smile and makes up an act in order to keep her in the dark. Until one day he's a little sloppy, a little careless, and all of his greatest fears come spilling out into daylight for her to see. And the horror to behold is so great, so terrible to comprehend that it literally kills her, and with her dies what little semblance of humanity Alastor had kept alive for her sake alone; without her audience, without her constant conscious he becomes cold, he becomes ruthless. What was once the cathartic release of a sinner in remorse deteriorates into the gluttonous spree of a demon brought into being.

Wreathed with guilt but blessed by hurt, he deserves his pain and embraces the agony of his loss. And it wasn't like it was ever a secret that he'd end up alone someday, though he never thought to consider it would happen so soon ...

And he misses her, just the same. Every time he catches a glimpse of her expression, the light of her eyes, the quirk of her lips and the crook of her brow. It peeks at him from the woman across the bench, it hides within the gentleman at the pub. It slumbers in the lolling gait of his victims, limp as the life drains from still-beating hearts stumbling away on stilts made of flesh, all in vain. He ponders over these lucid hauntings, the cuffs of a white-tailored shirt marred by the poppy-red stains of tonight's dinner - she always loved seeing him in her favourite color. And the next day when he recites the names of the deceased over the broadcast it is with the hollow solemnity of an inmate, counting down meals over grace until the final supper to meet one's maker.

Would he see her again? He had his doubts, but if it meant her ignorance, her bliss - then perhaps it was enough. To quell any hope at redemption, to forgo his salvation. To willingly have his soul devoured by the infernal flame, just as his body is rended, maimed by the sharpened snap and frenzied wails of emaciated hounds' maws ...

\---

In its new domain, a sacrificial lamb sprouts an ossified crown. It doesn't take long for it to take in its surroundings; the scenery is rather iconic, after all. Lips unfurl as it rises, steadying itself on cervine legs. And then it speaks, its voice a pleasant hum, simultaneously harsh and soft with the soothing hiss of radio-static.

"Mother always used to say, 'make haste, not waste ..!'"

**Author's Note:**

> whoops, fixed a few typos


End file.
